The Forsaken
by ckmono
Summary: They have been labelled 'failures', but their determination and hope remains. A one shot of those who rest within the Tower of Salvation. Reviews and comments appreciated.


**_Disclaimer:_** Tales of Symphonia does not belong to me, but to Namco, Nintendo, and all the other wonderful people who have brought the game to us. I am merely borrowing.

**Spoilers: Nothing only** **if you know what's in the Tower of Salvation besides the final Seal.

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**The Forsaken**

Hope is but an illusion.

When faced with such grand tapestries of cruelty, so impossibly ambitious and _perfect_, there is no choice but to lose hope. As we lose hope in ourselves, so immediately we lose the hope of our people and our gods. There is then, no more honour in the falsely humanitarian quest; no honour in giving the innocent to a necromancer striving to awaken the mindless and savage life in us.

Humans are selfish, weak creatures. Most of us wondered, sometimes, if we were the most selfish and weak of them all. If we were chosen to be forsaken. If that was why we were sentenced to watch the indomitable proof that there would _never_ be salvation.

We begged him to stop; begged him to spare all life from the beautiful and terrible lifelessness of Welgaia. We prayed devoutly and vainly for the awakening of the Martel within him, for the mercy to save the world She so loved. _Please_, whispered soundlessly as we scraped and grovelled at his feet, our dignity long strippedaway bydesperation. _Surely with the world saved, the people would try their hardest to help Mithos the Hero to save his dearest sister._

"Who are you to preach such a chivalric deed of me?" He thundered, his wings flaring with angelic hellfire. "You, for whom when the same moment came, the moment to choose between self and group, fought to your own benefit in fear and selfishness? Who are you to ask such unreasonable favours, when you always want everything in your greed? There is no Salvation, only power, and the one who wields its ultimate forms. All hearts are selfish, falling prey to the same flaws."

"But I know of sacrifice; I know of weighing the paths and choosing, and taking that path with no regrets. I am not like you, always remembering the qualities of both paths, choosing one then hoping for bridges to the other over which you may cross anytime you wish. You hope to achieve the best of two worlds, and that is where you fail. I am free of such indecisiveness, and so I become your god. This is the meaning of being the Hero, and only those who are so can attain Salvation."

Thus we fall away into the abyss, defeated, forgotten. We are the source of all rage, fear, and desperation, under which was buried a _false_ hope that the people we loved reached for with all their faithful selves. Here, the romantic notion of sacrificing oneself for a glorious cause melded in a most unnaturally perfect way with the natural desire to work towards one's own goals.

Once, we were remembered and revered, and we offered our faithful hearts to be crushed. Now we are forsaken and forgotten, and we offer true hope to be ignored. No Chosen One prays to us, our gift being a truth too bizarre to grasp with the simple minds of the declining world. The prophesied Salvation he dangled before their hungry hands shines brighter, promises more with less work. We watched as each Chosen One take the final steps of her inevitable sacrifice, as she undoubtedly catches sight of us where her companions can't. She welcomes the sadness in our eyes, sympathies for the process she must go through and consolation that she will join us soon. We watch, and mourn as we see the pain of betrayal and helplessness blossom in their eyes. Our screams of despair echo in the invisible winds of power that surround the Chosen as she offers herself, as her companions are slaughtered before her soulless body.

We pray then, _harder_ than when we begged his mercy that he would fail again. If there is a deity to whom we may offer ourselves to ensure his failure, many of us would. When a new coffin materializes in the leisurely twirling column of our own bodies, there is relief. But only just relief; what is there to rejoice about when he has as many sacrifices as time offers him?

And so we pray, for anything else is beyond our oppressive and unbreakable silence. The latest Chosen joins us, her eyes understanding, despairing in the now familiar silence she suffered as the final stage of her immortalization. Together, we pray for his mercy, for his understanding. We pray for the hope of Martel's lover, and the human heart of Mithos' master.

However, we are the Forsaken. Our prayers are of little worth to anyone, even if they are heard.

But we are bound to this world, unable to leave this stairway to the Hell in Heaven; as such, over time we stay willingly, hopeful against the hopeless.

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_Hear us, Chosen One. Hear us, Companions._

_We are the Forsaken, our names forgotten as time flows._

_Hear our silent prayers, see the silent truth._

_Take our hopes, that they may protect you and strengthen you._

_Take our hopes so you may truly Regenerate the World._

_Will you answer us?_

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**Author's Notes:** In the story, I imagined that the spirits of the Chosens and her Companions cannot leave the Tower of Salvation. It is probable thatmany have probably been killed in the Tower of Salvation for an attitude like Lloyd's, trying to save the Chosen. The Chosen is, of course, killed when unsuitable for a vessel to Martel. I also imagined that they, as spirits, are able to visit Dherris Kharlan/Welgaia/Mithos' Castle. Since they are silent, however, they cannot do anything. As well, I imagined that spirits are probably concentrated mana to some degree, and someone like Colette (whois special because she is the Chosen) and the Sage siblingscan probably see them/sense them. 


End file.
